Swiftcurrent Creek i'm gnashing my teeth like a child of cain

Moss’s health had ailed her for months now—in retrospect, what Akavir had considered as her healing and resting had likely been her simply enduring as she faded further from them.

It was frustrating—it was heart wrenching. Moss was as much of the creek as he and Arric were—a solid presence from almost the first day. A friend from back in the day, during some of the roughest months in his life…

A protector, above all else. The idea that someone had tried to take her kid from the safety of the wolves who had loved her was downright appalling.

Had he known Wren’s thoughts, he would have stopped his ministrations. But she spoke softly—more information divulged to him than Eshe’s frantic words. A man and a woman—he had been to the swamp. The blood and muck had made scents almost indecipherable for him to truly track—but he would try.

Because this was an eye for an eye.

“Without you, it sounds like both Mae and Moss’s baby would be stolen, Wren,” he murmurs as she belittles herself once more. He pulls back from her now, eyes searching her. Her battered frame—still, only a scratch on the outside of her compared to the wounds her past had inflicted within her. “I’m going to Kvarsheim to bring back Mae and the pup. Do you want me to send word for Silvertongue to be here with you?”


The irony of it. Sending word to the woman he had loved—still loved?—to tenderly care for another.